


Stay Warm

by Lightspeed



Category: Don't Starve (Video Game), Team Fortress 2
Genre: Cold Weather, Hand Jobs, Intergluteal Sex, Kissing, M/M, Survival, Violence, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-31
Updated: 2014-05-31
Packaged: 2018-02-03 08:03:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1737311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lightspeed/pseuds/Lightspeed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alone and hunted in the dead of winter, Wilson is sure he’s done for when he’s rescued by a fellow man of science!  Not only is he not alone in this strange other world, but he might not freeze to death once night falls!</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stay Warm

It was low over the snow-caked ground that the howls echoed, rattling through each needle of every tree as they chased Wilson through the dense forest. Tearing at his ears with phantom teeth, the sound made the scientist wince and shrug up his shoulders, trying to outpace the rapid patters of paws crunching unrelentingly through the snow.

He'd been running for so long, he could barely feel his feet and legs, though he was no longer sure if it was a symptom of the cold, or simply extreme fatigue. He couldn't believe he'd let himself be caught like this. He should've listened closer, should've reacted sooner. He knew the sound of hounds in the distance well enough, the noisy snorting and snuffling that heralded their search for prey. But he needed wood. He needed food. And he was having to venture further and further from camp to obtain it, his stores running so low. The winter had seemed to stretch forever, and as branches caught his frozen cheek, dodging between two thick trees and trying to find the path, he wished he'd let his beard grow.

Slavering, snarling, the hounds closed with every twist and turn, pounding through the snow unfettered by cold and wind. All they had was hunger, and it was all they needed.

Wilson batted a branch aside with the broken haft of his spear, ducking under the spray of snow that followed its arc and pelted his hair and back. How careless of him he thought, glancing down at the pieces of his ruined spear, one half clutched in each white-knuckled hand. He should have brought back-up weaponry. He should never have strayed so far from camp with a weapon so shaky. The thing had seen much use lately, fending off the awful denizens of the white woodlands, and it had been on its last legs for some time.

When it had snapped against the hounds' hides, he should not have been surprised.

Instead, he'd been left defenseless, barely escaping without injury as he sacrificed his beefalo hat as a distraction by hucking it at a charging hound. It had confounded the beasts just long enough for him to scramble off in a spray of slush, gaining the head start that he was now rapidly losing as he grew more and more lost and more and more tired in the dense, wintry woods.

It wouldn't be long before they were on him, tearing the flesh from his bones and spraying hot, red blood across the pristine white of the heavy-packed snow. He would gurgle and die with teeth in his throat, and learn what, if anything, would lie beyond this life. Though in the strange nightmare realm he now dwelt, he wondered if even the rest of oblivion would be gnarled and wrong, tainted just the same as land and sky and every living thing. Himself included.

There were some curiosities even a man of science must not satisfy. Getting here had taught him that. He'd rather not learn more than he had to today.

Wilson steeled himself. He heard jaws snapping at his heels, though he dared not look and see. He would have to fight, since he could no longer fly. He just hoped he would be able to take at least one out before being maimed to death. At least he'd die with the moral victory.

Taking hold of the broken chunks of spear, he grit his teeth and skidded to a halt, whipping around to bear arms to his assailants. Instead, his jaw dropped.

A yelp met his ears, a horrible wet ripping gush accompanying it. One hound lay dead in the snow, its throat slashed messily through, the other hound poised and growling at its slayer. Standing over the dead creature, a tall, trim man held what looked like a hand-made saw with a rounded end, dripping with purple ichor.

The man wore a long, pale coat that trailed out, fanning behind him like the tail of a great bird as it whipped in the icy wind. His feet were clad in tall, black boots that reached his knee, and shone with wetness in the heavy snow. He kicked the fallen creature at the other hound, watching with interest as the beast fell upon its fallen comrade in a flurry of violence.

He turned on his heel, dashing toward Wilson, purpose in the cold, blue eyes that sat behind his round glasses.

Wilson readied his weapons, mind racing as the man approached. Another human! Please, please let him not try to kill--

"Move! _Schnell!_ " the man with the saw cried, his voice high and nasal as he barked the order and snatched hold of Wilson's wrist in one rubber-gloved hand. He moved so fast, Wilson hadn't had the chance to bring up a defense even if he'd wanted to. Instead, he was nearly tugged from his feet as the tall man held his arm tightly and took off through the woods, his coat tails, and Wilson, trailing behind.

The pace was grueling, and Wilson wasn't sure if his legs could work fast enough to keep up. His long-legged saviour, a German, judging by his voice, moved like lightning through the freezing wilds.

"Feasting on his fellow should buy us some time to make our escape!" the man called back, his voice nearly giddy with adrenaline. "But he will tire and seek out fresh, non-monstrous meat quickly! I will take us to safety!"

Wilson could barely breathe as he tried to keep pace, let alone respond in kind, simply warbling out a worried, "Okay!" as he huffed and puffed.

No further words were exchanged, just panting breaths and hurried footfalls, leaving Wilson with naught else to do but observe the mysterious stranger leading him through the snow.

The man was handsome, to say the least. His face was long, with a large, strong chin and stark jaw-line. He was clean-shaven, with a five o'clock shadow setting in, and possessed of thin lips, a wide, distinctive nose, and eyebrows that peaked toward their outer ends. His hair, dark and well-combed, quirked out in a forelock that brushed his forehead, and a fetching grey had crept in at his temples.

Wilson nearly slammed into him when he was ripped from his observations as the man stopped abruptly. It was then that the smaller man's eyes wandered from the stranger long enough to realize they'd come upon a stone shack with a thatch roof, a weak trail of smoke wafting from a hole at the top.

The man released Wilson's wrist, and for the first time the startled scientist noticed how hot his cheeks had become. He thanked the rosy prickle of cold against his skin for hiding his flush so adeptly.

The man smiled to Wilson, he teeth perfect and so white, and opened the door to the little shack. "You will be safe here. The other hound may yet come, but the walls will hold. It will be dark soon, and even more dangerous to venture out alone," the man explained, his voice heavily accented with Vs in place of his Ws, and a distinct Z where his TH should be, but otherwise clear as a bell and pleasant to the ear. He was German, if Wilson placed his speech correctly. "Please, do come in," he beckoned.

Wilson didn't need to be told twice, ducking in through the heavy door followed quickly by his mystery saviour, who busily set to closing and barring the door securely against outside threats. "Who are you?"

"Aha, well, you may call me Medic, I suppose," the man, Medic, replied, finishing with the door and moving quickly to a stack of logs nearby, picking several up to go stoke the low fire that burned in a stone-lined pit in the middle of the shack's wooden floor.

"Medic?" Wilson asked, a little incredulous as he watched the German working quickly, his heavy coat sopping with snow and ice and clinging to him like a thick, second skin. "That's your name?"

"It will do, und it is what I've been called for some years now," Medic explained with a shrug, clapping his gloved hands once he was satisfied with the fire, which took quickly to the new fuel, climbing rapidly to a comfortable, cheery blaze. "Mein name is... It is not mine, any longer. I have signed it away, if you will," he chuckled, as if having made some joke Wilson would never understand. He sounded almost wistful, as if speaking of a paradise now lost to him.

Wilson could only wonder what sort of life was taken from him when he was ripped from it and deposited here. He could certainly empathise.

"Was ist your name?" Medic asked, casually throwing his native tongue in to tangle with English in a slightly disconcerting mixture that made Wilson's cold-muddled mind take a moment to process.

"Ah, uh, Wilson," he stammered out, regrouping quickly, "Wilson Percival Higgsbury."

"A pleasure," Medic smiled, tugging off one rubber glove and offering his large hand to shake. Wilson took it gingerly, but gladly found the older man didn't intend to show off the size of those hands with any excessive grip strength. His hand was very warm, though, and the heat soaked immediately into his own slim, frozen digits. It was entirely pleasant, and somewhere at the back of his mind he wondered how warm the rest of the tall, handsome German was.

"Please, make yourself at home," Medic announced as they parted. "I will get started on a meal momentarily," he explained, tugging off his other glove and turning them inside out, and hanging them on a wooden rack that stood beside the fire.

"Thank you, you don't have to," Wilson demurred, casting glances about the shack. It was a rather impressive camp. A crock pot sat on a long table next to one wall, hand-made knives laying atop it. Beside the fire, a hefty bed of furs lay draped into a cozy, fluffy heap, and opposite it, the wooden drying rack stood. A few odds and ends, mostly supplies and backpacks sat about, along with a large science machine taking up one corner, and an alchemy engine in the other, a work table stretching between the two holding various ingredients and finished jars of assorted unguents.

A makeshift laboratory! Another man of science! Wilson couldn't help but find himself warming rather quickly to the handsome stranger. "Are you a scientis--" he began, turning back to Medic to find him standing there in just his undershirt and boxers, the rest of his clothes now hanging from the drying rack, setting his wet boots aside. Wilson gulped, not even bothering to finish his sentence. A small curl of dark, soft hair peeked over the neckline of the other man's undershirt, and the slim scientist couldn't bring himself to look away. But God was he handsome.

"Of course," Medic grinned, straightening the heavy coat on the drying rack. "I am a doctor, a surgeon, und I dabble a little bit in engineering. Mostly to further my medical research. I tend to stay within mein discipline. There are enough medical curiosities here to keep me more than busy."

"Um, Medic?" Wilson ventured, his eyes gliding over the doctor's strong, fit body. He was in amazing shape for a man his age.

"Was? Oh! Ah, I am sorry, I should have warned you, but I cannot putter around in wet, freezing clothes. It would welcome fatigue, which welcomes illness! It is also very uncomfortable," Medic explained with an endearing smile. "Honestly, I would suggest you do the same. There is room on the rack to dry your clothes, und it will help you warm more quickly. Besides, I would like to keep mein bed dry."

"I-- your bed?"

"Well I am not going to let mein guest sleep on the floor, ja? Was kind of host would I be? Make yourself at home, mein freund. The furs are cozy und soft. Feel free to wrap yourself up while I tend to dinner," he offered, gesturing to the bed.

Wilson looked to the bed, then to the smiling doctor, then shrugged, "Sure, thank you," and set to undressing.

Medic began to busy himself, grabbing the pack he'd carried in, wet and heavy from the snow, and plopping it onto the table by his crock pot. He pulled out a pair of dead rabbits, some carrots, an egg, and a few mushrooms, and set about cleaning the kills and cutting them up for the pot.

He couldn't resist a glance over his shoulder at Wilson, who was slowly peeling the wet layers of his clothing off, hanging them carefully on the rack. His skin was pale, and his body thin and frail. Medic frowned a little upon seeing his ribs visible through his flesh, as bare as the impression was. He wondered how long Wilson had been in this God-forsaken land, left to fend for himself and scavenge for food just as he had.

Medic had the advantage of combat training. He was a mercenary, and able to take greater risks for greater rewards because of the experiments he'd performed on himself long ago that granted him an elevated healing rate. Wilson had no such help, left to figure everything out from the ground up, a man unaccustomed to fighting, let alone trying to carve out basic survival in harsh environs. Stripped to his underwear, he shivered, and Medic wondered if he would survive the winter alone.

It was a shame. He was rather good looking, with a young, narrow face and thick, dark hair. He dressed well, or at least did before he was removed from civilization, and had surprisingly good hygiene in spite of the circumstances.

Medic appreciated him being here more than anything. It was nice to have company. He'd been so lonely, left to rot here, far from sunny New Mexico and the rowdy band of miscreants he called his team. He missed them, and the constant noise and activity. The laughter, the camaraderie, even the fights were a welcome sort of normalcy, far removed from the lot he'd been left now. He missed the exuberant rogues he lived and died with, the warm desert sun, the endless, consequence-free bloodshed, and his beloved doves. He wondered if they were alright. Heavy would tend to them. The giant was a true friend, and Medic felt a pang of regret that he may never see the pensive, protective madman again.

Looking to Wilson, he smiled. Here was someone to talk to, someone other than his own loneliness, flesh and blood and words. Someone handsome. Someone freezing in his underwear. "Make yourself comfortable, mein Freund," he offered. "The bed is warm. Wrap yourself in furs and get close to the fire, or you will catch your death."

"Oh, thanks," Wilson replied, looking a bit sheepish. He took up a seat on the bed, wrapping himself tightly in the furs. "So, why did you help me?"

Medic shrugged as he dumped the sliced chunks of rabbit and vegetable into the crock pot, reaching under the table to take hold of a clay jug of water and rinse his hands and knife. "I had been keeping an eye out for the hounds, waiting for them to come. I'd been aware of them prowling around for some time now." He set his knives on the table and plucked another jug of water from under the table, pouring some onto his hands to finish cleaning them, then adding some to the crock pot. "I hadn't anticipated them finding another target. Or that there was another human here," the doctor explained, putting down his jug and putting the lid on the pot.

Hefting the pot up in his hands, he brought it over to the fire, setting it up on a rough metal stand to cook. "It should be a little while until dinner is ready," Medic said, grabbing a poker from beside the fire and stoking it a bit. He watched as Wilson cuddled further into the furs, bundling up as he watched him from his spot in his bed.

In his bed. Medic quite liked that.

Wilson shifted to the side, offering Medic a place to sit. He lifted a blanket to beckon the doctor to join his warmth, smiling as Medic took the offer, joining him once satisfied with the crackling fire.

"You're the first person I've seen since that damned magician dumped me here," Wilson mumbled, trying to give Medic some modicum of personal space in the nest of furs. No matter how much heat poured off of the older man, and how much he wanted to brush his chilly hand over Medic's warm, fuzzy leg, mere inches from his own.

It would be a good way to get kicked out into the snow in just his underwear to freeze to death, so Wilson's hand stayed where it was.

"I understand," Medic mused, staring into the flames. "You're the first human I've seen as well. If I ever manage to get mein hands on that verdammt magician, I will saw through his bones!"

Wilson chuckled a little at that quickly joined by his Teutonic rescuer. The music of their laughter filled the smallish shack over the crackle of the fire and the gentle sounds and smells of their dinner cooking.

 

*

 

They chatted as they waited, somber discussions of their pasts before being taken, animated talk of scientific pursuits, and lively grousing about the assorted annoyances of living in their new home. Time passed quickly, and soon dinner was ready, a hearty rabbit stew filled with vegetables and mushrooms that warmed Wilson and made him sleepy with satisfaction. Once the pot had been removed from the fire, Medic piled wood high, bringing the blaze bright and strong to warm them.

"You should get some sleep," Medic suggested as Wilson covered a yawn with his hand. "It is getting late."

"I don't want to take your bed from you."

"You have already been given it. Now lie down, or I will start lecturing you about the effects of sleep deprivation."

The scientist had to chuckle at that, burrowing deeper into the blankets. "I'm still cold, though. Maybe you could warm me up? Provide a little body heat?"

"I _am_ in mein underwear, you know."

"Is that warning me for or against it?" Wilson asked with a laugh, which Medic quickly shared.

"It is simply to caution you."

"Seriously, you radiate heat far more than I ever could. Plus, you need to sleep too," Wilson reasoned. "Or should you begin lecturing yourself on the effects of sleep deprivation?"

"You have me there," Medic admitted, slipping back under the furs and crawling up to lie beside the smaller man, pressing the warm skin of his back to Wilson's.

"I don't know how you're so warm."

"It's a side-effect of mein regeneration, I think. I've heard the observation before from lovers, though I don't especially notice it meinself."

"So you've heard it a lot?"

"Not so much in recent years. In my youth, I was far more the hot ticket than the mad middle-aged doktor," Medic chuckled.

"I couldn't see why," Wilson grinned, wondering what those lovers were like.

"You flatter an old man," Medic mused, settling in to sleep, and Wilson quickly followed.

 

*

 

Wilson woke with a start, sweat collecting in the small of his back and a pressure against him. He quickly realized Medic had rolled over, and his hairy, strong arm had been flung over his slim waist, tugging him close with a broad hand on his chest. He wasn't sure how long they'd been asleep, the fire blazing, but not nearly as brightly as it had been. The sky outside was still dark, from what he could see through the smoke hole in the roof.

And Medic was spooning him.

He was still asleep, as far as Wilson could tell, holding him close and breathing deep, slow breaths. His body crooked around the smaller man's, thighs pressing to thighs, feet tangled together, and his nose was buried in Wilson's thick hair. A soft sigh followed a light sniff, and a gentle nuzzle against his head. It was heavenly.

Wilson smiled broadly, all too excited to be cuddled by the handsome doctor, to feel his warm skin and soft hair and breathe in his scent around him. He settled in comfortably into Medic's grasp, and felt something firm pressed against his bottom.

His breath caught. He wriggled his bum, and listened to Medic's breath pick up. He felt that insistent heat pressing against him, and his suspicions were confirmed.

Medic was hard. And poking his butt.

He grinned, grinding back against the doctor and sighing at the sensation, delighting in the soft moan that met his ear. It was quickly followed by a snuffling snort as Medic awoke.

What was—oh he was—OH!

"Wilson?"

"Hmm?"

"Was—Was are you doing?"

"Returning the compliment," Wilson explained, grinding again.

"I—I'm sorry I did not mean--" Medic began, his arm beginning to slip away.

"Don't be," came the smaller man's admonishment, twisting in the older man's grasp to look him in the face. Lips met, and after a moment of apprehension, Wilson's kiss was returned with verve, Medic's hand cupping the younger man's jaw as their mouths opened and tongues came together.

Neither kissed with any expertise, too desperate and sleepy for any application of skill. Neither particularly cared, too excited to taste another, to relish the feel of another, to stab at the loneliness and isolation as lips clashed and hands roved over slim bodies and Medic began to grind against Wilson in earnest.

"I need to devise some sort of lubricant," Medic mused, his hand sneaking down to cup at the smaller man, rubbing gently along the slowly-wakening length beginning to tent out his underwear.

Wilson gasped, arching into the touch, "I don't have to wait until then, do I?"

"I wouldn't dream of it," the doctor whispered, nipping at the slim scientist's earlobe and reaching back to shimmy his shorts down, freeing himself.

Making quick work of his own underthings, Wilson settled back against Medic, turning on his side again to allow him easy access to his ass. He couldn't penetrate him, but he could certainly rub up against his meager backside, and quickly took the hint and began doing just that.

Hot, hard flesh pressed between his cheeks, pointing upward and slipping slowly against his skin. The sensation was surprisingly arousing to Wilson, the heat and firmness of Medic's cock cradled against his ass making his own loins throb in appreciation. He clutched at the furs, reaching back to scratch through Medic's hair as the older man clamped his mouth down on his neck and began to suck marks into him. The doctor's hand began to stroke in time with each grinding thrust against him, his breath beginning to pick up as he lost himself in the feel of the smaller man.

He was smooth and small and smelled amazing, and Medic caught more and more of his pheromone-laden scent as his breath puffed in and out of his flared nostrils, teeth worrying gently at his neck. The soft sounds that welcomed him only made his hips rock faster, his hand speeding up to match pace, bringing out more of those lovely little noises.

Wilson whimpered and whined, gasps punctuating quiet moans as he closed his eyes and furrowed his brow and bucked into Medic's large, warm hand. It was more calloused than he'd expected, though not unpleasantly so, and the friction it provided sent shivers through him. Medic's body heat poured into him as he rutted against his ass, hungrily mouthing at him and surrounding him with himself. It was at once overwhelming and entirely comfortable, and the scientist couldn't conceive of a place he'd rather be than in the lustful embrace of the handsome doctor.

It wouldn't be long. Both of them were well aware of the fact. It had been too long for both of them, and the thrill, the rush of an actual flesh-and-blood lover after so long alone had their bodies electric and thrumming, hurtling screaming for the edge in a high-speed race to a very steep drop.

Medic tried to stifle his cry by sealing his lips over Wilson's shoulder, leaving tooth marks in his wake as his shrill voice rose in his throat and escaped through his nose. He spent himself against Wilson's ass in a series of thrusts, milking out his orgasm and slicking the smaller man's cheeks and lower back as he slowed, his hand working faster and faster as he felt the scientist tense in his arms.

Wilson slapped a hand over his mouth, cupping his face hard to muffle his whines as his legs went stock straight and he shuddered, soiling Medic's hand with his seed as he followed the older man over the precipice, gasping and keening. It was vexing, trying desperately to stay quiet enough to not attract predators while all the same wanting to cry his ecstasy to the heavens, to crow triumphantly that he was not alone.

Both men sagged, spent, panting quietly as the fire crackled and spat, barely drowning out their laboured breaths.

"That was...," Medic began.

"Yeah," Wilson agreed, understanding the doctor's meaning all too well.

"Thank you."

"You too, thanks."

They chuckled softly, and Wilson rolled his shoulder. "That bite's probably going to bruise."

"Nothing that should impede you, I hope?"

"I hope not, but that is my dominant arm."

Medic frowned and pressed a soft kiss to the ring of tooth marks on Wilson's shoulder. "Well you will just need to rest und convalesce tomorrow, then. Leave the gathering to me."

"You mean, stay here?"

"Unless you would rather stay at your camp. I do not want to assume the size or condition of your lodgings," Medic shrugged with a smile.

"No," Wilson sighed, "it's okay. Your camp is much better against the weather. Though..."

"Ja?"

"I will have to move some machinery, then."

"Move? Isn't it a little soon to be moving in, Liebchen?"

"Well I don't normally fuck on the first date, either," Wilson teased, rubbing his come-smeared bottom against Medic's softening cock.

"You have me there," the doctor chuckled in return. "Come, let us clean up und get some rest. We can speak about this in the morning."

Wilson nodded, almost reluctant to peel away the soft, warm furs to bother with washing off. "But we will talk about... all this?"

"Winter is long and cold. I intend to keep you warm," Medic assured him with a grin.

**Author's Note:**

> a belated trade with tumblr user mrs-cheese


End file.
